Sanders Sides One-Shots

Logan is Not a Robot

Fandom(s): Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders, YouTube, Marina and the Diamonds, Bands, Music

Warnings: Self-doubt, self-deprecation, self-hatred, smoking, facades, fighting, yelling, self-destructive behavior, self-harm, food mention, trouble with emotions, touch starvation, sleep deprivation, delusions

Ship(s): Romantic Logince, Platonic Analogical, and Platonic Logicality

THIS FIC CONTAINS EXTREMELY TRIGGERING CONTENT PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION

You've been acting awful tough lately
Smoking a lot of cigarettes lately
But inside, you're just a little baby

Logan stared for a moment at the cigarette he'd conjured, his stomach churning. This was really quite unhealthy, but...he'd tried everything else, and nothing had worked. Closing his eyes, Logan conjured a lighter and lit the cigarette. The taste was very unpleasant, but something about the motion of smoking, the repetitive actions of doing it, was very relaxing. He was glad the initial "buzz", as it was called, from the first time he ever smoked was no longer present.

Sighing softly, Logan pulled his ashtray closer and turned back to his back to his paperwork and plannings. He needed to get this done, or Thomas wouldn't be able to get anything done in time like Logan wanted to. Like all of the others wanted to. Logan smiled a bit, pleased that he had finally found something that he could be proud of. he was mature, a hard worker. Even if it wasn't much, it was...great. He was great. Or, he could be great, if he really tried.

Logan stared at the papers in front of him. Sure, the cigarette was helping to keep him from freaking out or falling asleep, but would it be enough? What if Logan didn't finish everything in time? He would fail at his job, and then Thomas, Patton, Virgil, and Roman would see how useless he was. Logan groaned and rested his head on his arms, shoulders shaking slightly. He put out the cigarette in the ashtray (it wasn't really helping, and if he needed a new one, he could conjure it).

"Stop being a baby, you are a full. Grown. Man," Logan growled to himself as something he forgot the name of (what were they called? Tears?) began welling up in his eyes. He wiped at them desperately. He was Logic, he was not Morality, or Anxiety, or whatever the heck Roman was, he should not be having these sensations. He did not have those icky feelings the other three sides seemed to gush about so often with Thomas. He was practically a robot, and proud of it. Feelings, they got in the way of everything. He was better off without them.

So, Logan conjured up another cigarette and lighter. He practically groaned with relief as the familiar feeling of relaxation flooded his body. It was such a blissful, wonderful feeling that only nicotine could make him experience. Logan had no feelings, after all. The very notion was preposterous.

It's okay to say you've got a weak spot
You don't always have to be on top
Better to be hated
Than loved loved loved for what you're not

"I'm not weak. I'm not weak. I'm not weak," Logan whispered repeatedly, staring at his glowing laptop screen and digging his nails into his arm, cigarette clutched tightly between two fingers in his other hand. He had to keep reminding himself of that as he stumbled over plans, struggled to keep deadlines, and messed up. Logic was flawless, Logic was mechanical, Logic was perfection, and he was Logic. He could do this, he just had to concentrate.

"Logan? Buddy? Microsoft Nerd? Are you in there?" Roman said, voice loud and booming on the other side of the door. Logan gasped and quickly swiped his hand, making the thirty some cigarette butts and ashtray disappear, the smoke in his room evaporate, and a new, clean outfit appear on his person. Relaxing a bit, he stood up and answered the door. Roman stood in the hallway, eyes narrow, hands clenched into fists and resting on his hips. Logan swallowed, a strange feeling no, not a feeling I don't have feelings shut up in the pit of his stomach.